


And Every Tomorrow Is A Day I Never Plan

by orphan_account



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 20:38:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(815): It started with Hannah Montana and ended with alcoholism.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Every Tomorrow Is A Day I Never Plan

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this [Texts From Last Period](http://textsfromlastperiod.tumblr.com/post/31897662761) and commentary by [QueenieGalore](archiveofourown.org/users/queeniegalore/)

Patrick honestly didn't notice who he was standing near beyond 'damn, nice legs' until a photographer wandering by said "hey, can I get a picture?" and holy shit, that's Miley Cyrus.

Miley pasted on a photographed-for-a-living smile and slung an arm around Patrick. The photographer took his shots and moved on; before Patrick could think about what he was saying he blurted out: "You should probably know the US Olympic hockey team rocked out to Party In The USA before a couple games."

Her smile became much less faked as she looked at him assessingly. "Yeah, I bet The Climb's totally your jam."

Miley's voice didn't match her face, to Patrick's surprise. It reminded him of the old comedies his mom used to watch marathons of on TMC, the kind of voice that belonged to someone who'd get called a dame instead of a lady.

"Nah, I can't be tamed," he said, grinning when it cracked Miley up. "You've got a great laugh," he added.

"You're not what I was expecting," Miley said, sounding mildly impressed. "I thought hockey players were all missing teeth and mullets."

"I save the mullet for the post-season." 

"I can't hate on the mullet, bein' in my family, but you're much cuter without it." 

His teammates might tease him for having no game but the flirtyness was impossible to miss. Patrick managed not to cockblock himself, ending up with an invite to Miley's hotel room.

 

"Hi!" Miley said, bouncing up on her toes to press a quick kiss on Patrick's cheek before letting him into her suite. She paused, frowning. "So we need to get somethin' awkward out of the way..."

"Anything you read on the internet was a lie," Patrick quickly replied.

It got him another round of Miley's laugh. She took his hands and pulled him towards the kitchen area. "My, like, agent has this thing? About non-disclosure agreements. It's a thing. I have a TMZ problem," she said ruefully, waving at a stack of papers.

"Deadspin issues," Patrick said, pointing at himself. He held out his hand for a fistbump of gossip blog solidarity. 

Miley bumped back with an unexpected amount of force for someone so tiny and hopped up on the counter while Patrick skimmed through the document. He'd gotten enough 'don't sign anything you haven't read' lectures to actually remember to do it even when a hot chick with legs for miles had started poking him with her bare foot. He got to the end and signed it big and swirly like an autograph for a fan.

"Friggin' finally," Miley grumbled. She made a c'mere finger motion.

"I dunno," Patrick teased, moving to stand in front of her, "maybe I should go find a notary."

Miley shook her hair out of her face and leaned back to give him a fake-disapproving look, hands planted firmly on the counter. It pulled her already too thin tank top even more obviously across her bra. Any smart remark Patrick might've made was lost to unsubtle staring at her tits instead.

Fortunately that seemed to be what she was going for. Miley wrapped her legs loosely around Patrick's hips to pull him in for a kiss as she shifted back to sitting upright. Patrick ended up with arm around her waist and the other hand stroking her thigh, right at the edge of her shorts, kissing Miley's neck and enjoying her soft gasps.

Meanwhile Miley was insinuating her hands between them to undo the buttons of his shirt, pushing his shoulders back a little to shove it off him. She made a quick grab for his hat and tossed it aside. Patrick would've complained except she followed it by reaching for the hem of her own shirt and yanking it over her head.

"You have a seriously great rack," Patrick said appreciatively.

"Thanks," Miley said with what Patrick hoped was an affectionate eye roll. 

She beat him to undoing her bra clasp but let him slide the straps down her arms and slowly pull it off before chucking it behind him. Patrick was vaguely aware of the sound of it hitting the refrigerator; most of his focus was diverted to getting his hands and/or mouth on the gorgeous girl in front of him. Miley was a fun combination of giggly and bossy, pushing Patrick where she wanted him instead when he hit ticklish spots. 

Patrick would've been happy to stay there forever, making out and sorta dry humping, were it not for how his jeans were getting extremely uncomfortable. Miley's legs were tight enough around him that he figured he could grab her off the counter without either of them ending up injured. She seemed to get what he was going for when he slid both hands under her ass, twining her arms securely over his shoulders. Patrick lifted her easily and took two steps backward with limited interruption to their kissing. After a minute or two Miley made a displeased noise that Patrick thought maybe meant he should set her down on her feet, though he wasn't quite enough of a gentleman to take his hands off her excellent butt or not check out her boobs from the new angle.

"We're all good," she assured him, "that was just less hot and more weird than I thought it'd be."

"The Notebook has lied to us," he agreed solemnly. 

She looked at him in the same considering way as when they'd first met. "You totally cry at the end, don't front."

"Everyone cries at the end," Patrick responded, giving her a come-at-me head tilt.

"I think I'm, like, obligated by the girl code to sleep with you for admitting that," Miley said. She wiggled out of his arms and headed towards the bedroom.

 

The bedroom of this suite was Patrick's new favorite place, he decided. The giant fluffy bed was nice, but what really sold him on it was the naked fooling around happening on top of it. It was pretty cool hooking up while entirely sober with someone he was 100% certain hadn't picked him just for the famous dude novelty factor. On the other hand it was kind of a mindfuck he was fingerbanging Hannah Montana, so on the whole Patrick was trying not to get too philosophical about the situation. 

Not that it was difficult to avoid thinking about anything except the way Miley was twitching her hips and clinging to his shoulderblades, until "Ow, shit!" he said, reluctantly pulling out and slowly rotating his hand. "Sorry, fuck, sorry," Patrick leaned down to kiss Miley quickly, hoping to get the worried look off her face. When he pulled back he explained "My wrist's fucked up, it can get bitchy when I keep it at some angles too long."

Miley pushed up on her elbows to press a line of kisses along his collarbone. "You're good to go everywhere else?" she asked, sounding hopeful and impatient.

Patrick dramatically flopped over on his back. "All yours, baby."

Following the required 'where are the condoms' and 'why are condoms so annoying to put on' sections of the evening, Patrick had ended up slightly propped up against the pillows with Miley straddling and smirking at him.

The smirk was well deserved as she slid slowly down on his dick. Being able to watch was making it even hotter for Patrick, he was almost disappointed when she settled fully on top of him. Except, well, hot chick rocking on his dick. He looked up at Miley's face, assuming his own must have the knowing flirtatious grin everybody gave him shit for accidentally unleashing on Sharpy or whoever sometimes. At least now he had an appropriate audience.

They settled into a rhythm that seemed to be working for them both, Patrick lightly holding on to Miley's hips, thumbs curled into the curve of her hipbones. She alternated between grasping his forearms and bracing herself on his stomach. Miley tilted enough to grind against him, her weight shifting enough Patrick could bend his knees and put the power of endurance trained thigh muscles into each thrust.

It was ridiculously hot seeing her like this, head thrown back, eyes shut, low throaty moans escaping whenever he managed a particularly good stroke. Patrick knew he probably looked stupid in comparison, blushing red across his cheeks and chest and lower lip bitten to hell trying to keep from coming.

All good things must come to an end, and sadly that includes specular fucks. Patrick's orgasm slammed into him hard, leaving him dazed and slightly giggly. Miley moved to dismount when a thought struck Patrick. Getting a(n above the age of consent) Disney starlet to sit on his face had to be on some dude's Bucket List, and that unknown bro out there would feel a strange sense of disappointment if Patrick passed up this chance. 

"C'mere, scoot up," Patrick said. Miley eyed him dubiously. "I'll make it worth your while, I swear," he promised, including an exaggerated eyebrow wiggle to make his intent clear. 

His unintentional nervous lip licking when she hesitated was more likely what sealed the deal. Miley positioned herself carefully, letting Patrick loop his arms under her thighs, keeping her legs spread, supported by her grip on the headboard and his hands on her ass. She tasted a little latex-y, but Patrick was willing to cope if it meant hearing the harsh intakes of breath and short deep moans he got in response. Her noises became louder and more frequent as he worked diligently at her clit, resolving in a drawn-out moan, her hips shoved so aggressively forward Patrick briefly had concerns about breathing.

Miley swung herself down and snuggled in along Patrick's side. "I'm gonna find out that cameraman's name and send him, like, a muffin basket or something," she said.


End file.
